


A Date

by calvinahobbes



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Blind Date, Dating, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calvinahobbes/pseuds/calvinahobbes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bell goes on a date with a professional dominatrix. A fic in three scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Date

**Author's Note:**

> IDEK I was peacefully watching episode 4 and they just shared such A Look and then I thought, well why SHOULDN'T they date? And why shouldn't Mistress Felicia, the history interested dominatrix, not be a college graduate and have a multi-faceted lifestyle?

"It's not that I'm desperate, you know," Marcus said. "I'm _not_ desperate." He studied Clyde munching on a piece of cucumber and morosely rolled his bottle of beer between his hands.

"It's just...?"

"It's just that sometimes it would be nice to have someone to have a conversation with." He looked up. "Not that I don't enjoy our conversations. They just frequently end up being about viscera and blood stain patterns."

Joan smiled indulgently. "It's not the same. Trust me, I get it." She rolled her eyes in a way that meant to indicate the kitchen, the house, Sherlock Holmes, everything. She ducked her head. "Actually, a friend of mine just set me up on some fancy dating website. I don't exactly approve of her methods, but I have to admit, I've been... tempted."

Marcus nodded, took a sip of beer.

"I mean," she continued. "It's good to see people who have other... professions."

The back door slammed open, there was a scuffle of footsteps, the door slammed shut again, and Sherlock emerged from the hallway. He was decked out in rain boots and sweat pants, covered in something that might be a hunter's green rain cape and a welder's mask. 

"Or adult interests..." Joan said drily, continuing her sentence.

Sherlock took the mask off and smiled beatifically. "Ah, Detective Bell, welcome. Having an end-of-shift drink with Watson, I see."

Marcus raised his beer in a salute. "Yeah. You want one?" 

"I thank you, no, I am quite in the middle of a most invigorating project. I have just a few minutes before I needs must head back out." He nodded continuously but stood otherwise still, looking thoughtfully at Marcus.

Marcus endured it for some seconds, almost turned back to Joan, but in the end couldn't ignore it. "Okay, I might regret this but: What?"

"I have fairly recently been entrusted the telephone number of a young handsome woman, who expressed some interest in my passing it on to you. I made no promises, as I consider my loyalties to be first and foremost to you. But seeing as you are clearly in the market for a date I see no reason to withhold the number, should you want it."

"Uh," Marcus said as he turned the information over in his head. It took him a moment to remember not ask how Sherlock could tell just from looking at them what they had been talking about. "Yeah. Sure. What's the catch?"

Sherlock made a dismissive gesture. "Oh, nothing, to be sure. We all have our small eccentricities, wouldn't you say?"

"I guess so." Marcus narrowed his eyes. "Tell me something about her. Where did you get this number?"

"On one of our most recent cases. I believe this young lady had noticed you. She asked me whether you were "available" and asked me to give you her number. I know only that she is a History major from Hunter College, and that she has spent a year abroad in Florence. Owns a small, private business. I believe she has quite a varied and active social life."

Marcus looked to Joan with a raised eyebrow. "And she wants to date a cop?"

"Well, there's no accounting for taste, is there?" Sherlock said cheerfully.

Joan gave him a stern look. "Why wouldn't she want to date you? You're young, good-looking, clearly good at what you do..." She trailed off, which Marcus was thankful for. She turned to Sherlock. "Who _is_ this woman?"

Sherlock, who was fiddling with his phone, shook his head. "You met her too, Watson, you just weren't paying attention." He made a final entry on the touch screen with a flourish. Marcus' phone beeped in his pocket. "Sent! You should call now, I believe tomorrow is her day off. Now if you will excuse me..." He put the welder's mask back on and stomped back outside.

Marcus and Joan took a moment to follow his progress with their eyes and then flinched in unison when the door slammed after him. Marcus took his phone out and looked at the text message, the new number helpfully highlighted by the operating system. "Well, here goes nothing," he sighed.

***

He could not believe he was actually feeling nervous. He wasn't that rusty, and sure, having his ex-girlfriend try to frame him for murder had been a bit of damper on his social life, but he wasn't going to think about that now, and also he was completely past it. 

He ran a hand over his chest, momentarily forgetting he wasn't wearing a tie, dressed instead in a cream-colored cable-knit sweater and a pair of jeans. He forcibly stopped himself from taking out his phone and folded his hands on the tabletop instead.

"Marcus Bell?" 

He almost jumped. But he didn't. He looked up and was momentarily confused by the fact that he recognized the person standing in front of him. "Oh. Mist--- Miss Felicia, hi." He glanced over her shoulder, trying to recover from his surprised near-slip of the tongue. "I'm sorry, I'm actually waiting for someone..."

She sat down gingerly on the edge of the chair across from him. "No, I'm sorry. You were waiting for me. I didn't want Sherlock to tell you."

Marcus tried not to gape.

"I'm sorry to spring this on you. I can see you're surprised. I just... you were so friendly when you took my statement -- you didn't seem like you were judging me, and, well... You may find this hard to believe, but I've been having a hard time meeting new people."

He shook himself, sat up straighter. "I _do_ actually find that hard to believe." He cast about for something to say. "I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I, uh... But. Look, I don't really..." he involuntarily lowered his voice and bent forward slightly. 

She inclined her head a little to follow him, which made him feel suddenly awkward and self-conscious. She smiled, but it wasn't exactly a nice smile. It looked wry and self-deprecating. "Sherlock just gave me the impression that you were cool, when I asked him."

"I don't know what "cool" means," his fingers twitched nervously even though he didn't actually make the quotation marks in the air, "but I'm just not like you -- or him."

A cold expression passed over her face, and she stood up, and something about her affront made Marcus scramble to follow. "Cool just means nice -- a stand-up guy. Friendly. I can see I was wrong." Out of the latex pumps she was his height, and he felt like an asshole.

"I'm sorry," Marcus said. He searched desperately in his memory. "Felicity. Miss Lopez." He laid a hand on his chest. "I was an ass. Please, have a drink." 

She stood still, not smiling or frowning, or even really looking at him. Several seconds passed. Then she nodded, as if to herself and sat back down. Marcus felt a surprising wave of relief wash over him. He turned and gestured for a waiter.

He sat down, drew in a breath and smiled. "I hear you studied History."

She quirked her lip in something that could be a smile and nodded.

***

"I had a nice time," Marcus said, managing not to sound surprised. They had come to a halt by the subway entrance, Felicity's stop. 

"Me too." Her genuine smile was sweet and made her look softer somehow. She had her hair up, and two strands of thin gold dangled from each ear, emphasizing her neck. Marcus cursed his luck.

"It's just that I can't help worrying..."

"Look," she interrupted him. "Do you usually discuss your sexual preferences on a first date?"

Marcus shrugged uncomfortably. "No. But I don't usually know that my date is a professional dominatrix, which is not _even_ to get into the trouble of a cop dating a sex-worker."

"I really didn't want to do this right now, or right here," she sighed, indicating the dark grubby street and the people passing by, and Marcus felt that she was right. "I don't believe I owe you any explanation, but. One, I am not a sex-worker; I do not have sex with my clients. I practice safe and risk-aware role playing scenarios with other consenting adults. Two, while it is an important part of who I am, it is not the only important thing about me. And finally, did it ever occur to you that I might not even feel the need for domination and submission to be a part of any romantic relationship I might wish to have?"

"I, uh, no." Marcus made a gesture of defeat. "That did not occur to me. I've been making a lot of wrong assumptions tonight. I feel like I'm... dating slightly outside my comfort zone, to be honest. You're beautiful, and smart, and there's this large part of your life I don't really understand anything about."

Felicity smiled. "Well, I understand it can be intimidating, dating a History buff."

Marcus grinned. "Yeah, I have a lot to learn about... History."

She looked like she was coming to a decision. "Ever been to the Met?"

"Uh, yeah, once or twice." Marcus rolled his eyes.

"I like their medieval collection. Why don't we go next week? I could teach you a thing or two. About History."

Marcus smiled. "Yeah, I bet you could."

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I hope that wasn't too fluffy and that it didn't seem like I was implying that non-sexual BDSM is morally better than sexual BDSM or that it makes a significant difference what kind you're having, I really just wanted to write Mistress Felicia in a way that I thought would be cool and interesting and complex and emphasise the way she is just another human-of-New-York, if that makes sense...


End file.
